


Like Blood and Madagascar Vanilla

by Shelligator



Category: All Hail King Julien
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Blood and Injury, Description of blood and dressing wounds, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gay Panic, Horst does that thing where he pops his own arm back into place like a degenerate, M/M, Please let me know if i need harsher tags, Romance, Slow Burn, Sugarbuns fic!, Ted is a good boy, Ted patches his up, dislocated arm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:07:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28455819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shelligator/pseuds/Shelligator
Summary: When Horst gets mauled again, he wakes up to be greeted by a friendly, and decidedly pretty, face.
Relationships: Mary Ann/Horst (mentioned), Ted/Horst
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	Like Blood and Madagascar Vanilla

**Author's Note:**

> This ship came as a surprise to my friends and I, but goodness am I thriving off of it.  
> Ahead, Horst is referred to as a Bebl (blue eyes black lemur), or a Sclaters lemur. Ted is a golden bamboo lemur. There's mention/mild descriptions of blood and wounds. Horst's arm is dislocated and he pops it back in, and has several cuts. Please let me know if it need heavier tags?  
> Please give kudos and comments if you like it, it really makes my day! <3 Happy reading, snitches!

When Horst wakes up, his senses are bombarded with several things all at once, making him sorely wish he hadn't.

The metallic scent of blood fills his nostrils, and he's forced to blink rapidly as it drips into his left eye, thick and hot. It blinds him, making him squint against the light with just one eye.

And the pain is horrendous. His head throbs harder than any hangover he's ever had, and his entire right arm and shoulder is nothing but agony, threatening to make him pass out again. He's almost certain he's lost it this time, but when he blinks down at it he's relieved to find it still there, even if he's pretty sure it's not meant to be bent that way, or bleeding nearly this much.

Who would have thought a body had that much blood in it?

But through all of this, he suddenly realizes he's being carried. There's an arm around his middle that isn't his, and his good arm is leveraged over someone's shoulder, his paw held tightly in one that's impossibly soft.

"What…"

"Horst!" Comes a familiar voice, far too loud for his aching head, "Oh _**snickerdoodles** I THOUGHT YOU WERE **DEAD!**_ "

And then Ted's face fills his vision, framed by sunbeams. His face is the picture of worry, tangerine eyes roaming over his face in rapid flicks. There's blood on his cheek, most likely Horst's own. It really does just get _everywhere_ ,doesn't it?

" _Oh_ for the love of… please stop yelling." He groans, and Ted blinks incredulously before smiling at him, adjusting him on his shoulder with a sheepish chuckle.

"Sorry Horst. Golly, I'd say someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, but I'm just glad you're awake at _all!_ " 

His quip is enough to make him relax a little, and Horst takes a moment to assess his surroundings, blinking against the morning sun.

They're just coming up to Horst's hut, and he can't help but wonder how he'd even ended up outside in the first place. She must have been really angry this time, if the severity of his mauling is anything to go by. He remembers little, but the memory of the pop and tear of his arm is more vivid than he wishes it was, enough to make his vision swim and his stomach flip flop in his gut.

Getting sick now would just add insult to injury, and suddenly the sun is far too bright, beating down on his head and pressing in on him mercilessly. The air is thick and hot in his lungs, and in a flare of panic he attempts to clumsily push himself away from Ted, groaning fitfully.

He's done this alone many times before. Now would be no different.

But he only succeeds in almost falling on his face, and the Captain rushes to catch him, letting out a strangled yelp of surprise and worry as he almost collapses under Horst's full weight.

"Woah! Where do you think you're _going_ , Horst? Ya big silly." He chides him gently, and Horst closes his eyes, his forehead falling against the taller lemur's shoulder. He barely registers the blood he gets on Ted's fur, but he's too light-headed now to care. At least he's not puking.

And then Ted is half carrying, half dragging him the rest of the way. Initially he tries to hold up Horst's weight and open the door with a free paw, grimacing and straining from the effort. But when he almost drops Horst twice as he's fumbling with the door handle he's forced to simply use his shoulder to force the door open in his desperation, stumbling inside and accidently jostling Horst enough to make the Sclaters lemur yell out in pain and protest.

"Sorry, _sorry_! Oh, Horst! You look _awful_! Oh no, oh, where to… , here let old Teddy sort you right out okay?"

Ted deposits Horst on his couch gingerly, the spot usually reserved for Pancho when he needs to get away from his own creepy PTSD hut. The hut is cool inside, cast mostly in shadow, and he manages to crack his eye open again as he hears Ted scurrying around nearby, flinging open cupboards and digging around in drawers.

"Ted…?" He asks skeptically, trying lamely to prop himself up with his good arm, "What exactly are you-"

The golden bamboo lemur whirls around in the section Horst supposes would be his kitchen, if he ever bothered to cook anything. His orange eyes are wide with panic, and he gives Horst a beseeching look, his paws grasping at the air.

" _Wash cloth, bucket,_ _ **where?!**_ " 

It's almost as if he's speaking in another language, and Horst blinks at him, watching how the dust particles dancing in the air around him seem to catch the light streaming in from one of the windows. Or is the light coming from him?

" _ **Horst!**_ "

"W-what? Oh. Check the bedroom?"

Ted scurries off to check his room, and soon enough he comes back with a bucket of water and some scrunched up fabric that the other man must have dubbed washcloth-worthy. He moves to kneel in front of him, and Horst shifts where he lies, scooting back into the couch a little with a look of uncertainty.

Soaking the cloth and wringing out the excess, Ted spots the cautiously scrutinizing look Horst levels at him. He makes a face with a nervous chuckle that sounds borderline hysterical, waving the damp rag as he talks, "I have to clean your fur, I can't see how bad it is with all… nng… _this_." 

He gestures vaguely at Horst's bloody fur with a wince, and before he can make any protests Ted takes his face in his paw, gently but insistently angling him so he can get a look at his left eye, still caked closed with blood. One blue eye widens as Ted brings his face close to his own, and nipping at his bottom lip the bamboo lemur starts to carefully dab at his eye, wiping the blood away.

"Does that hurt?"

It's only then when he tries to reply that Horst realizes he'd stopped breathing, his voice cracking on the first attempt, "Ah- I… no?"

Why did he say that like it was a question? He doesn't know, and to his relief Ted doesn't seem to mind, focusing on cleaning around his eye. His breath is warm on his snout, and smells like passion fruit.

When Ted shifts to clean off the cloth Horst blinks rapidly, relieved to be able to see again. The eye burns a little, and it quickly wells with tears, getting rid of the blood that had gotten in there. And then Ted is back, taking his face in his paws again to position him just the way he needs him to be. He takes a moment to dab away the tears, a quiet chitter rising in his throat behind closed lips, a comforting sound.

His paws are terribly, awfully soft. And they're trembling against his cheeks. It's so light he's surprised he notices.

The other male starts gingerly wiping the silky fur that crowns Horst's head, but when he abruptly tries to pull away as bloody water starts to drip down his face Ted tuts in gentle reprimand, coaxing him back firmly but carefully.

"Don't fuss, Horst."

"I-It's getting in my face!"

"It's just water," Ted reminds him with a shaky but teasing smile, giving him a reassuring look, "I'll clean it up, see?"

And he does just that, using a clean corner of the rag to soak up the streaks on his face. Horst can't help but feel silly, but it doesn't stop him from pouting at the other man with a stubborn frown.

"And what about my couch, son?"

"I'll clean that up too," Ted counters with an infuriatingly sunny smile, arching a playful brow at him, "Ol Teddy is here to clean up all oopsies, uh-ohs and… ouchies, it seems."

Horst finds he can't argue with that, which is a first for him. He's never been afraid to argue his point across. But now, he finds he can't really say anything. And that seems to suit Ted just fine as he goes back to cleaning his fur, grooming him with his damp rag and careful combs of his fingers through his fur. And there's no more fussing from the kingdom's resident DJ.

As it turns out, the wounds on his head aren't too deep, much to both their surprise as Ted leans over him to part his damp fur, "This is good, well, as good as it can be, you know? _Boy_ was I worried, I thought your skull got popped like a watermelon!"

Horst's lips twist at that, his stomach lurching again as he moves to sit upright " Uh, nnn, _charming_."

Ted chuckles a touch awkwardly before moving his attention to Horst's arm and shoulder. His face quickly falls however, the laughter dying in his throat before turning into a long, worried hiss.

" _Golly_ , Horst, your _arm_ …" 

It certainly feels as bad as Ted makes it sound. He doesn't want to look at it, afraid of his head spinning all over again. But he's dealt with this sort of thing before, and he doesn’t like the way his gut twists up into knots at the concern he hears in Ted’s voice.

"Ah I've had worse, Mary-Ann bit me in half once." He reminds the other man matter-of-factly. Ted gives him a look, seemingly not reassured in the slightest, and his coppery eyes roam over Horst’s face with incredulous little flicks before darting back down to his arm.

“Oh, heh, of course!” Ted agrees amicably, but his voice is high pitched and strained, his lips twisted into what looks more like a grimace than a smile. But he moves on quickly, soaking the cloth in water again, “Well, let’s... ya know, get you cleaned up and have a little look-see, shall we?”

Horst gives him another weary, scrutinizing look, and when Ted comes in close to brace his good shoulder he flinches back, his lip curling to show off his teeth in warning, "I-I-I don't need you to-"

"Oh come now Horst,” Ted chides gently, though there’s little room for argument in his tone, “I’m not going to hurt you. See?”

The bamboo lemur carefully applies the cloth to Horst’s chest and shoulder, allowing the water to flow freely through his fur. The water quickly runs red, and when Horst groans against the sting of water seeping into his open wounds Ted’s thumb brushes over his collarbone in a reassuring sweep.

“You lied,” Horst accuses him, and Ted flashes him a genuinely warm smile, one that reaches his eyes.

“Only a little, right?” he counters as he gathers up more water to clean his fur. He quickly returns his attention to Horst’s injuries however, his brow furrowing.

He gets to dabbing and wiping at his arm with feather light touches, but he rinses more than he physically touches him, taking care not to jostle Horst’s damaged arm more than he has to. The DJ is certainly grateful for it, and he can’t help but watch the other male work, taking in the firm press of his lips and the pinch of his brow.

It takes some time before the water starts to clear, and by that point his fur and couch is thoroughly sodden. Horst finds he can’t even be mad about it, acutely aware of every brush of Ted’s thumb on his collar, dwarfing the pain of his aching arm.

It’s under the steady, rhythmic strokes that Horst allows himself to drift off into anxious musings, his aching muscles trembling under Ted's ministrations. Each wound burns fresh and open, claw marks and puncture wounds serving as reminders of his wife's feral fury. 

_She's gone._

She’s left him. That’s what this is, right? Like the time before this, and that time before that, and so on and so forth.

_She mauled me, and she left me. Again._

As if reading his mind, Ted pipes up haltingly, trying to sound casual as he uses a finger to trace a long indent of fur on Horst's chest, a hint to the old scar that lies beneath it, "So, Mary Ann did all this, huh?" The bamboo lemur gives a nervous titter, and Horst feels his gut twist up into an uncomfortable pretzel, "Golly, _wives_ huh? I tell ya, one time Dorothy threw a mango right at me! _Boy_ did it smart."

Horst doesn't say anything, his teeth grinding together as the words and their implications bounce around in his throbbing skull. But unfortunately for him, Ted seems happy to continue doing all the talking, "In her defense, she didn't know it was me. Poor thing, scared her half to death. She doesn't like surprises, that's for sure-"

Ted looks up from the path his finger traces over his chest to see the frown Horst levels at him, and after a moment of mortified silence the sunny male lets out an almost hysterical bubble of laughter, wincing through the smile he flashes at him, "Amazing how much I can say with my foot in my mouth, huh Horst? Sorry, um, about that. _I'll stop talking_."

The Captain does just that, doing anything to avoid meeting his gaze, and Horst fights to stop himself from squirming, spotlighted by the other male.

Who was Ted, an outsider looking in, to comment on his marriage? Like somehow his own was any better?

And yet...

He's here now, soaked in blood and water, for what? He can’t even remember what he did. What did he do now to earn her ire? He’s sorry, for whatever it was. He’s so sorry, and he just wants her to come back.

But _why_? Why does it have to hurt so much? Why leave him like this, when he cares so, so much. How could she do this to him?

His throat tightens, a wail welling up in his chest. His heartache dwarfs the pain of his mangled arm, and his head pounds and throbs like the weight of the world is bearing down on his crown and on the back of his neck and oh Gods _she's left him again-_

"Horst? This is Teddy Bear, come in Horst." Ted presses anxiously, and the Bebl blinks hard, unaware that he'd been spoken to, "Are you with me?"

"W-w-what?"

Ted offers him what he must hope to be a disarming smile, one that does little to quill the ringing in Horst's ears or the panicked skipping of his heart, "I was asking about a first aid kit, do you have one?"

"A-a what?"

Ted's blinks at him incredulously, his smile faltering. He seems about to say something, but he must think better of it as he simply lets out a huff of air before continuing, "Well that won't do. These gashes are _deep_ , and this pretzel arm is gonna need a sling! Lucky for you, I've got a military grade kit at home!" 

But Horst is barely listening, at least up until the mention of 'home', and he hates the way his stomach lurches at the thought of him leaving. 

And it's even worse when Ted's features soften all the more, making his entire being rail against his rising panic, "Aw, sit tight Horst. I won't be long, okay? Don't do anything silly while I'm gone."

He seems almost reluctant to go, shifting his weight from foot to foot. But then he's off, taking to all fours to scurry out the door with haste, and for a moment Horst is taken back to a different time. Under the shining sun, running joyously on all fours along the baobab branches as he watches the light play across the red fur of Ted's back.

He curls his knees towards his chest as much as his mangled arm will allow, gritting his teeth against the pain the movement causes. Pain is nothing new, he embraces it more often than not. But this is different, accompanied by heartache and the fear of something foreign and different.

No, pain is nothing new. But having someone doting on him, tending to his wounds with compassion, now _that's_ new. The pain that flares up in his chest when Ted smiles, the way he forgets how to breathe when his face comes close to his own, how vulnerable and exposed he feels under his paws, all of him laid bare for Ted to see- _**that's new.**_ Right? 

But...

Horst's heart gives a frightened stutter in his chest, his head reeling with too many new developments. He doesn't need him, doesn't need to be tended to like some pup with an injured paw. He's gotten by just fine on his own, waiting for Mary Ann to come back to him. And she will, she has to, like she has before.

And he'll be just fine with that. He doesn't need him.

He doesn't need to wait for him to get back.

With his heartbeat pounding in his ears like a mantra he grits his teeth, grabbing a hold of his twisted forearm and ignoring the near blinding agony that shoots through the length of his arm. He's usually a lot more careful than this, but his iron grip on his arm is the firmest thing about him as everything around him seems to crumble.

He doesn't need him.

He twists and pulls, and it's with a sickening crack that his elbow pops back into place. His eyes water, and he gasps for shaky breaths against the pain that arcs through his veins, threatening to make him pass out. He blinks against the tears, stealing a glance down at his twisted arm that still looks far too misshapen.

It needs to be popped back into the shoulder as well. That's nothing new. That happens a lot.

_He doesn't need him._

He takes his upper arm in his grasp, ignoring his stinging cuts as he holds on too tightly. 

_**He doesn't need him.** _

The crack of his arm seems to echo throughout his hut, followed quickly by a primal wail as he throws his head back, his vision flashing white. And yet his arm still hangs loose by his side, the pain shooting through his shoulder and up his neck.

It didn't work.

Why didn't it work? Why?! He doesn't need him, _he doesn't need him, **he doesn't-**_

He tries again, more forcefully, to press his arm back into its socket, with far less grace and composure than he would usually display. His muscles protest the movement, and when there's still no dice his chest tightens with growing panic, rising up like a howl in his throat until-

" _ **HORST**_?!" 

And just like that his arm pops back into its socket, just in time for a horrified Ted to see it happen. The DJ looks up with wild eyes to see Ted rush to his side, the first aid kit held in a white knuckled grip. Horst's head spins, and he wonders if he'll pass out this time. Wouldn't he be so lucky?

"Scrumplekins what have you **done**?! Your- your _arm_ , you-"

" _What did I tell you?! **I don't need you!**_ " Horst yells back through the tears that choke his throat, and Ted flinches back as if struck, his cheeks pale beneath his fur.

For what seems like an eternity Ted regards him in stunned silence, his eyes shining with hurt. But then he slowly sinks to his knees in front of the couch again, leveling him with an earnest look. His voice is gentle and quiet, thrumming in his throat, "Well that's just silly. Sure, you may not _need_ me around. But that doesn't mean you _have_ to do it alone, right?"

Horst sucks in a breath, flinching back from the sheer depth of the tenderness he sees in Ted's imploring eyes. And just like that all the fire and brimstone leaves him, making him feel terribly small and fragile. He teeters on the edge of breaking, and when Ted offers him another encouraging smile he comes undone completely.

He doesn't realize he's crying until Ted reaches out to grip his good shoulder, cooing softly at him. Horst ducks his head to hide his face in the silken fur of Ted's chest, and the other male doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around him with care, his paws gently rubbing circles into his back.

"Oh, Horst… I'm sorry, is it what I said before? I shouldn't have-"

"She's gone, Ted. She left me, again."

"What?" Ted's paw drifts up to cradle the side of his head, and Horst turns to press his forehead into it, sobbing unabashedly, "But she- oh Horst, I'm so sorry. Do you want me to go-"

" _No_ ," he groans plaintively, and he means it, "No."

"Okay then. I won't," Ted reassures gently, his breath warm on his ear, "I won't go anywhere."

They stay like that for a while, with Ted's paws gently tracing paths through his fur as he cries. And to Ted's credit, he doesn't lose patience with him, humming and cooing softly to affirm that he's still there. His fur smells like vanilla, sinfully soft against his face.

When Horst's sobs finally still Ted chances a glance down at his arm, his brow furrowing, "Are you okay? Can you move it? After you… _ya know_? Golly Horst, what did I tell ya…"

Horst attempts to move his fingers, and when he succeeds he attempts to move the whole arm, albeit gingerly. That works too, though not without his muscles giving a sharp twinge of protest, with a stinging pain that climbs up his arm and radiates into his chest, "Seems like it."

Ted hums, not looking entirely convinced, and he puts the first aid kit on the couch beside him to rummage around in it. It's full of makeshift palm bandages and the like, and even a few man-made medical supplies that they must have pillaged from junk harbour, "Well, sorry to be Captain Skeptical over here, but I still think it calls for a sling and some bandages, at least for a little while."

He repeats the process of cleaning the blood from Horst's arm before using more fabric and some strong smelling herbal and alcoholic liquid to disinfect the wounds, or at least that's what he assumes it to be from how it stings. And then he wraps bandages around his arm and torso, tying them up and fastening them with pins that Horst realizes are topped with sparkly flowers.

"How's that? A bit tight?"

"Ah I-I'd say!"

"Good! That should keep it from bleeding too much. I think? Anywho, about that sling-"

"I-I do _not_ need a sling!" Horst interjects quickly, his lip curling in disdain.

" _Horst!_ " Ted growls in exasperation, but when Horst simply growls right back, glowering at him, the bamboo lemur relents. With a dramatic sigh he sits down and folds his arms across Horst's knees, looking up at him through dense lashes, " _Fine_ , have it your way. I'm just glad I got this far to begin with! Figured it would be better than taking you to that mean ol' scary snake doctor."

Horst shivers at the thought, making a face. Any lemur with half a brain cell to spare knew that Dr S and his Phantom were to be avoided at all costs, if they valued their lives at least. You could go in with a sniffle and come out sans a few vital organs, if you were lucky to come out at all.

"Uh, um… thanks, Ted." Horst offers clumsily, and when Ted beams up at him his face heats beneath his fur.

"Don't mention it! I tell ya, this was _way_ more delightful than my training. I mean, when I was sure you weren't dying and all. My heart's _still_ racing! Here, feel it!"

Before Horst can make heads or tails of what he just said Ted's grasping his good paw in his. He pulls him down a bit to press his palm against his chest, and the DJ can confirm he wasn't lying. Ted's heart beats like a hummingbird in his breast, and Horst can't help but reel at that, suddenly very aware of almost every nerve ending in his paw.

"T-t-t-that's some heartbeat for sure," Horst agrees without thinking, the words stumbling out of his mouth in stutters as they jostle awkwardly on his tongue. A bubble of laughter escapes Ted, a laugh that Horst can feel in his paw, and before he knows it he's chuckling too, a bewildered sound.

And Ted's heart flutters against his palm. Or did he imagine that?


End file.
